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Elisha Cuthbert Photos Books: Martin Eden The Pickwick Papers The Sea Wolf |
more, and then
went in and had a drink of wine on the house. He noted it was the best
wine the grocer had in stock.
"Maria," Martin announced that night, "Im going to leave you. And
youre going to leave here yourself soon. Then you can rent the house
and be a landlord yourself. Youve a brother in San Leandro or Haywards,
and hes in the milk business. I want you to send all your washing back
unwashed--understand?--unwashed, and to go out to San Leandro to-morrow,
or Haywards, or wherever it is, and see that brother of yours. Tell him
to come to see me. Ill be stopping at the Metropole down in Oakland.
Hell know a good milk-ranch when he sees one."
And so it was that Maria became a landlord and the sole owner of a dairy,
with two hired men to do the work for her and a bank account that
steadily increased despite the fact that her whole brood wore shoes and
went to school. Few persons ever meet the fairy princes they dream
about; but Maria, who worked hard and whose head was hard, never dreaming
about fairy princes, entertained hers in the guise of an ex-laundryman.
In the meantime the world had begun to ask: "Who is this Martin Eden?" He
had declined to give any biographical data to his publishers, but the
newspapers were not to be denied. Oakland was his own town, and the
reporters nosed out scores of individuals who could supply information.
All that he was and was not, all that he had done and most of what he had
not done, was spread out for the delectation of the public, accompanied
by snapshots and photographs--the latter procured from the local
photographer who had once taken Martins picture and who promptly
copyrighted it and put it on the market. At first, so great was his
disgust with the magazines and all bourgeois society, Martin fought
against publicity; but in the end, because it was easier than not to, he
surrendered. He found that he could not refuse himself to the special
writers who travelled long distances to see him. Then again, each day
was so many hours long, and, since he no longer was occupied with writing
and studying, those hours had to be occupied somehow; so he yielded to
what was to him a whim, permitted interviews, gave his opinions on
literature and philosophy, and even accepted invitations of the
bourgeoisie. He had settled down into a strange and comfortable state of
mind. He no longer cared. He forgave everybody, even the cub reporter
who had painted him red and to whom he now granted a full page with
specially posed photographs.
He saw Lizzie occasionally, and it was patent that she regretted the
greatness that had come to him. It widened the space between them.
Perhaps it was with the hope of narrowing it that she yielded to his
persuasions to go to night school and business college and to have
herself gowned by a wonderful dressmaker who charged outrageous prices.
She improved visibly from day to day, until Martin wondered if he was
doing right, for he knew that all her compliance and endeavor was for his
sake. She was trying to make herself of worth in his eyes--of the sort
of worth he seemed to value. Yet he gave her no hope, treating her in
brotherly fashion and rarely seeing her.
"Overdue" was rushed upon the market by the Meredith-Lowell Company in
the height of his popularity, and being fiction, in point of sales it
made even a bigger strike than "The Shame of the Sun." Week after week
his was the credit of the unprecedented performance of having two books
at the head of the list of best-sellers. Not only did the story take
with the fiction-readers, but those who read "The Shame of the Sun" with
avidity were likewise attracted to the sea-story by the cosmic grasp of
mastery with which he had handled it. First he had attacked the
literature of mysticism, and had done it exceeding well; and, next, he
had successfully supplied the very literature he had exposited, thus
proving himself to be that rare genius, a critic and a creator in one.
Money poured in on him, fame poured in on him; he flashed, comet-like,
through the world of literature, and he was more amused than interested
by Martin Eden page 170 Martin Eden page 172 |